


Every Action

by seraphenanox



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphenanox/pseuds/seraphenanox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark maybe a genius, but he has forgotten Newton's Third Law doesn't just apply to Physics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Action

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings on this one for remembered Torture, Cannon appropriate violence and such. 
> 
> Italics - thoughts  
> /Italics/ - Memories
> 
> This was a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Still no beta so mistakes are mine. Feel free to leave feedback. There may be a second part coming soon.

Looking down at the battered suit Tony Stark changed directions. Too mangled for the dis assembly rig, the workshop was going to  
be the best place. 

Water dripped down the armor. The sloshed in his boots and dripped from his arms. The dents and tears dribbled with any motion. 

He entered through the service entrance and made it to the freight elevator. Leaning against the wall he just breathed. Ignoring the ache in his side and the throbbing of his head he just focused on that. 

One step and then another. That was all he had to do. 

Just breathe. 

_/The sharp stench of fetid water, the rankness of the cloth on his eyes. /_

“Sir.” Jarvis’s voice echoed through the suits receptors. It crackled as the sensors faded in and out. 

_How tired do you have to be for an AI to sound exhausted?._

The doors opened as he approached. Three hours, three hours of nothing but moving, planning, reacting. 

“Update on the others?” Tony leaned against the worktable just focusing on what he could see. The suit’s HUD flicked on and off. 

“Captain Roger’s is finishing the after action report with Agent Stilwell. Dr. Banner is resting after the Hulk’s activities. “ 

“And Clint?” 

_/Water finding its way into his mouth and nose gagging him. /_

“Sir.” 

He locked his elbow joints letting the flesh and blood sag. 

If Iron Man fell in the workshop would it make a sound?

/“Stark men show no weakness. They are iron, unbending.”/ 

“Barton’s status J?” 

“He is currently in SHIELD Medical. Condition listed as stable. The doctor’s wish to have him remain overnight for observation.” 

Gauntlets first, then he had a better chance with the helm. 

/The sharp snap of questions and commands. / 

“Wh-what’s the book currently?” he had to keep focused, keep talking. 

“The odd are currently that Agent Barton will have effectuated an escape from Medical within the next two hours and return to the tower in three.” 

He scoured the table for a flat head screw driver. His headache pulsed with each movement up and down. He had to shuffle over a little with each pass. 

“Note J, Need better field of vision if the HUD goes down.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

Finally he saw one. The grip was loose and awkward. 

“Come on.” He snarled a little trying to get the tool under the first release latch. The small clamp was bent and twisted. But finally it popped. The edge of the screwdriver skittered across the arm plate gouging the red metal. 

Blinking he stared at the sliver showing up from under the paint and blew out a breath. Repainting was going to be on the list anyway. 

Another few minutes of work to get the other catch loosened. 

“Might I suggest getting assistance sir?” 

He pried off the gauntlet and flexed his fingers as the blood flowed back unrestricted. Water trickled out the wrist. Goosebumps rose on his exposed skin. 

_/”Build us a bomb. Build us a Jericho and you will be free. /_

“Too much water here J. Leave the kids in their stations.”

“Yes Sir. What about-“

“I’ve got this don’t disturb Pepper.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

He focused on his other hand. One more and he can get to the helm. He could get away from the smell, the cold, the wet.  
It was worse. Doom hadn’t been messing around this time. Just the four of them, no Fantastic Pains in his ass, no X-Men, versus a legion of DoomBots with serious anger management issues. 

He focused on where he could feel the sharps edges digging into his skin. He concentrated on the way the abused flesh swelled against the restrictions of compressed metal. 

His dominant hand too. 

_/Searching, looking. The light was so frail against the darkness and the murk._

_He should be right here._

_A hand reaching out and then latching on. Pain ricocheting up his arm. The light of arc reactor reflecting in panicked blue green eyes._

_The rush of bubbles fountaining up towards the surface. /_

The seam just gave when the screwdriver twisted. He felt the way the sharp tool skittered across skin. Drips of blood into the water. 

_/Sharp features going lax. Those eyes losing their intensity, their fear. The grip slipping off./_

“Any word on Barton’s wrist?” 

_The one I grabbed._

_/The archer unmoving on the gurney and the vivid purple and black against the white of his skin./_

“The file indicates that Agent Barton has bruising from wrist to elbow, but no indications of other injuries.”

_/Pain. Unrelenting, pulsing pain. Flaring in time to his heart./_

“Sir!” 

“Yeah J?” He could hear the slur in his own words, but the swirl of red in water was there, the drips of both changing the pattern and altering the pictures. 

“You need to remove the helm sir.” 

Helm, right. He had to get it off. No diagnostics, no com, nothing worked right in it. His hands shook in the cool air. 

“Sure J.” 

Flesh now, not metal could tell. Sensitive skin not sensors that flickered in fits and starts. He could feel the rough edges where the pincers had clamped around his neck, the sharp burrs where the drill had tried, had succeeded, to penetrate the suit. He could feel the edges of the drill bit too, sheared off with an arrow screaming out the distance.

_/”Hawkeye, you’re out of position.”_  
_“I know. Iron Man’s got a parasite. Hold still Tinman.”_  
_“Don’t miss Birdy.”  
_ _“I never miss…on purpose.” /_

Everything felt fine. The latches seemed to be in order. 

So it was electrical, not mechanical issues. 

Air and light slammed his face as it broke away under his fingers. It clattered to the floor with splatters of water tinged red.  
He tried to fill his lungs with air that smelled of grease and oil, of ozone and concrete. Not of algae and pollution, not of stagnation and cold. 

His knees gave out and the weight slammed to the floor. 

“Sir!” 

_/“Hawkeye!”_  
_“Iron Man did you see-”  
_ _“In the river. I’ve got him.”/_

“Sir!”

“If there’s no one to see it does it make a noise?” he slurred as the dark water rose up once more.


End file.
